Khaimin

the theory of once

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i hear the thunder rolling in

sweet smell of cut grass floating through the window, soft sound of cars passing by and distant music pumping through speakers strong and quick, the backbone of the wind, carrying voices and laughter from three floors down; and i can't see it but i imagine the way the world is turning, churning, people moving like ants - so insignificant but so significant to me, a nail in the coffin of the universe and the a holy grail of what is yet to come. hot tea and beeping microwaves frame the day and soft blankets whisper gently over bedsheets, sleep-time now, phones down eyes closed, take a moment to lose yourself in the beauty of the day (sun

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i hear the thunder rolling in

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how to maybe fall in love

1. you don't. at least, not at first, not for you; you sit in the back of the room and kind of admire the way their laugh shakes their shoulders back and forth, rhythmic mimicry found unrhyming, unrehearsed. it's refreshing, you think. and slowly maybe you realize that hey, they aren't too bad looking and hey, you kind of like the way their eyes dart away if you catch them looking at you, and hey. you feel your heartbeat for the first time in years. 2. you think you might like them. kind of. maybe. you really don't know, but you like to think you do (because if you wish hard enough some fairy godmother you know doesn't ex

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i hear the thunder rolling in by Khaimin, literature

Literature

i hear the thunder rolling in

you don't want to be a waterfall by Khaimin, literature

Literature

you don't want to be a waterfall

it's a certain kind of people that when you hurt them it's like the world ends, tears crashing like waves on a sandy shore of dry cheeks and angry lips. they break your heart like they broke your soul, no sense of self left for the person they used to be, used to seem to be when they were all butterflies and rainbows shattered by a storm, non-stop anger. some people are like waterfalls, crashing - loud - ringing - in - your - ears noise all around, shrouded in mist and fighting over everything for time to keep ticking no matter what might be happening in the back of their head, fighting for you and them and the whole fucking world. some

the work of september by Khaimin, literature

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the work of september

months have passed in gray trails of smoke. the summer fades in shades of gold washed with amber, and i find time for the fall amidst moments of solitude. weeks have passed in a blur-like wave, crashing over me to leave me searching for surface; the calendar moves on with an invisible hand. in the night i find silence, in the night i find the loneliness i fight to conquer, the dark thoughts like snakes twining around my legs up my abdomen, crawling in the crevasses of my ribs. i find fear in the soft moments of pre-dawn, in the seconds before the sun rises its face to the sky to give birth to the newest day. one minute may be hours but o

sun hides, world shines by Khaimin, literature

pluto has the right idea by Khaimin, literature

Literature

pluto has the right idea

the gravity of the situation is that i am neither sun nor moon, do not get too close or i will fly like a meteor, flashing ice-cold against the void as i find someplace to hide in the cosmos - i am not a planet with a breathable atmosphere, one in which you can become intoxicated by and stay in forever, i am not an inhale of hope but an exhale of despair, and after meeting me you will want a reset button, a chance to undo, but i am not a god that can give you that choice - i do not love you like trees love the soil or clouds love the sky, i do not feel emotion like the babbling of brook and birdsong in the air, i feel anger like a snapp

i don't remember the color of your eyes by Khaimin, literature

Literature

i don't remember the color of your eyes

you suffocated yourself in the weight of what-ifs and the memories you wanted to rip out of your head; you wished nothing more than to be left alone and cold in the dark, while every night you closed your eyes to the thought of someday - i dissipate in the churning air, i let myself be swallowed whole and let out again as poison, let myself be blown by the wind and shattered by the leaves of trees that haven't learned to let go - you dared to breathe and found you liked the taste of spring, found you liked the way the sun felt on your skin and frosty grass felt on your feet, you realized the way the rain falls is the most interesting of t

break the gates with rings of fire by Khaimin, literature

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break the gates with rings of fire

halt, the sky sings in seraphic tones, the clouds roar as they race to part in unholy droves - like the breaching masses of old-world seas, on the quaking earth, the shores tremble and seize - the trees collapse inward and cave to forest floors, left to rot and crumble now and forevermore - man steals fire, escapes the cave, angels pick man off in one winged clave - man's lowly ashes will drift to the earth as the gods above die and new ones are birthed - and as centuries pass with storms and with fire, man will return to consequences dire - they'll turn to be angels as angels turn to be gods, and gods they will be against all the od

wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day by Khaimin, literature

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wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day

i'd say my lungs have atrophied but that seems too corporeal to deal with what i've lost - it's more like my soul and my self, as plato would say; it left to the realm behind our heads and didn't bother taking my body down before it ran out - i watched the rain fall yesterday and dreamed of thunderstorms and dry lightning, wished for a drought that would never end because i was tired of things growing in the barren crevasses of my skin take hold of hands in the night and watch me waste away, i'm skin and bones and bones and soul gone missing (i miss tomorrow already and it ain't even here) hold still darling, i

to whomever it may concern by Khaimin, literature

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to whomever it may concern

at night i lie half-sleeping with you on the couch, the television screen blaring propaganda and 2-am comedies. your fingernails are getting long again, and you won't let me cut them 'cause you say baby, they're all i've got left to fight with on my way outta this hell. so i let you run them over my skin, gentle in their calamity (you wreck me without knowing the price i pay to sink with you). and when the sun dips above the curtains you write half-posed prose on my wrists and up my elbows, onto my collarbones and the twist of my neck, you write phrases that make your mind dance and my skin sing; you call me beautiful in the light of a st

justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked by Khaimin, literature

Literature

justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked

wolves come running. their howls light the moon and the diamonds in their eyes make wild beasts flee; the stars glint a deadly shade of beautiful as the trees wrap branches around lost children, turn them into wild-bred fae. there is magic in the air that glints dangerously from lupine paws, pounding into the earth. mushroom circles rise from the dirt and doorways open; travelers stumble awry and the fair folk feast well tonight. (the wolves howl and come running, their teeth like death snapping at moonbeams, tails whipping shadows; and slowly they melt into the night as the sun rises. doorways lock and mushrooms burn - the magic is lost

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